


red eyes, black embrace

by kyungsoo_sama (orphan_account)



Series: my drabbles [13]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Overwork, Stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kyungsoo_sama
Summary: this story resonates with many people i know.Also on LJ and AFF.





	red eyes, black embrace

Ebony mist surrounds him, the blackness hugging and choking him with a strange love, a million expectations, a simmering ambition with a cold, bone-crunching embrace.

A stage light finally illuminates his weak, tall and bent stature. He tries to hug his stone-cold frame, he tries to hide his young face. But he is paralyzed, shackled by the blackness surrounding him.

He finally makes out two pairs of almond-shaped eyes in the distance, gazing at him fervently, their black eyeballs swimming in blood-red irises.

_You can do it, right?_

"Maybe-

_You will do it, right?_

"I'll try my best-

_Promise?_

Without even waiting for his response, the bloody almond eyes hover closer towards him. The black mist, with its tonnage of ambition, crushes him into nothingness.

Chanyeol wakes up with a start, cold sweat trickling down his back. The early morning azaan sounds from a nearby mosque, and Chanyeol's eyes widen further in shock. 5:32 AM, reads his little clock. _Shit, I'm late._

_Allahu Akbar, Alla - a - ahu Akba-_

"Chanyeol, it's getting late! Get ready quickly!" His mother's annoyed voice breaks the calming azaan, clearly tinged with red as his last warning to wake up.

 _Allahu Akbar Alla - a - ahu Ak-_ "Coming, Ma!"

And Chanyeol is already racing down the steps, in a crisp school uniform, satchel in one hand and tennis racquet in the other. [Thank God, he didn't have to carry a grand piano.]

Almond eyes glance up at him, drowning him in a strange love, as he is handed a glass of warm milk in the kitchen.

Almond eyes, peep out through rimless glasses, from behind The Times, the newspaper still hiding the rest of the stony face. The large eyes give him a cold, judging, once-over. A quiet, low, ambitious voice rumbled from behind: "Wipe off that milk moustache."

Licking off the remnants of the warm, sweet drink, he steps out of the house, dreading the barrage - a slew - of tests and assignments, of project schedules and deadlines, useless tennis and piano lessons[he doesn't even like Western Classical], of shouting teachers, of cut-throat second rankers eager to push him off his first rank, and of the endless lies and rumours about his good looks and the young teacher's and the young teachers seducing him through generous grades. They cannot crush him.

However, those almond eyes, those almond eyes which push him , which force him on with a cunning ambition, which coax him with a shackling love, have already crushed him. Crushed him into a nobody, crushed him into nothingness. Nothing but a shallow ghost of a soul, an empty vessel filled with the unfulfilled dreams of those almond eyes.


End file.
